#EnglishWriters
Oft, as he jogs along the Winding… Occasion comes for Every Man to s… “This Road?—or That?” and as he c… So shall his journey end in Night…
Lord, Thou hast stricken us, smit… Winnowed us fine on the dread thre… “Had I not reason?—far you had st… Vain was My calling, you would no… Low in the dust, Lord, our hearts…
King’s Daughter! Wouldst thou be all fair, Without—within— Peerless and beautiful, A very Queen?
Through every minute of this day, Be with me, Lord! Through every day of all this week… Be with me, Lord! Through every week of all this yea…
“My lord, there came unto the gate One, in such pitiful estate, So all forlorn and desolate, Ill-fed, ill-clad, of ills compact… A leper too,—his poor flesh wracke…
By the grace of God and the coura… Of the peoples far and wide, By the toil and sweat of those who… And the blood of those who died, We have won the fight, we have sav…
I faced a future all unknown, No opening could I see, I heard without the night wind moa… The ways were dark to me,— “I cannot face it all alone
Burden-bearers are we all, Great and small. Burden-sharers be ye all, Great and small! Where another shares the load,
Pearl Iridescent! Pearl of the se… Shimmering, glimmering Pearl of t… White in the sun-flecked Silver S… White in the moon-decked Silver S… White in the wrath of the Silver…
When the Bells of Ys rang softly,… Soft—and sweet—and low, Not a sound was heard in the old g… As the silvery tones came floating… But life stood still with uncovere…
Stephen, who died while I stood b… Wrought in his death the making of… Bruised one hard heart to thought… Fitted one fighter for a nobler st… Stephen, the Saint, triumphant an…
A Potter, playing with his lump o… Fashioned an image of supremest wo… "Never was nobler image made on ea… Than this that I have fashioned o… And I, of mine own skill, did fas…
The spikenard was not wasted;— All down the tale of years, The fragrance of that broken alaba… Still clings to Mary’s memory, As clung its perfume sweet unto he…
Winter hung about the ways, Very loth to go. Little Spring could not get past… Try she never so. This side,—that side, everywhere,
Where are all the young men? There are only grey-heads here. What has become of the young men? centered* * * * * * * This is the young men’s year!